


I'd Like To Apologize In Advance For What I'm About To Ask Of You

by fourth-wall-fleabag (ContemplatingRP)



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, God Ships It, Thank god for omegle, he's just dramatic, i made a friend and a plot, they're idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContemplatingRP/pseuds/fourth-wall-fleabag
Summary: It's been a few months since their love confession/breakup, and they haven't seen each other since. Then something happens to the church, the priest doesn't have a lot of options, and Fleabag- has some secrets.





	1. In The Rebeginning

The world has moved on. 

She isn't sure she wanted it to. 

* * *

It's been two months, eight days.

She walks past the church every day, usually twice. 

The first time she walks past is while the sun is still rising. She's been opening the cafe early, is all. 

The second time she walks past is at exactly 9:45. It's dark and she uses a bench nearby as an excuse to sit and light a cigarette even though she's trying to quit.

* * *

It's been seven months, three days since she's seen him, but it's not like she's counting.

It's raining, so she's not on her usual bench, she's a bit closer, under the cover of the trees near the back of the church. Near the back of the priory. She tries not to think about it.

She tries so hard not to think about it that she doesn't hear his voice until he's nearly upon her. She drops her cig, figuring the rain will put it out, and books it toward the street.

* * *

The next morning she stares at her phone for ten minutes before she manages to open the article.

* * *

The church and the priory in one fell swoop. Wine fueled the blaze for the church, whiskey and G&Ts burned the priory.

Source of the fire was a cigarette. _Fuck._

It's being treated as an accident. 

No injuries. 

_He's safe_ , she thinks; then, guiltily, _sorry, God._

* * *

Twelve hours and ten minutes later, she gets a text. It's him, she tells her audience. 

* * *

17:34

Hey.

* * *

She takes a few minutes to formulate a response. 

* * *

18:11

Hey. Heard about the church. Are you okay?

18:13

Not great. 

Not hurt, though. 

How are you?

18:17

Keeping on.

What's up? You haven't texted since- well. Since.

18:20

Was hoping for a clean break. Wanted to let it fade. I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch. 

And I'd like to apologize in advance for what I'm about to ask of you.

18:22

Anal is reserved for guys who text me regularly.

18:23

A shame.

No, um.

Fuck, this is harder than I thought it'd be.

You have a spare room, yeah?

(Short Delay)

Forget I said anything. I'll get a hotel.

18:27

Extra key is on a magnet under the postbox. I've got another hour before I can close up.

Sorry. It's Chatty Wednesday.


	2. Love is Patient

When she comes home he's sitting on her couch, staring into a bottle of rum, and wearing what she thinks used to be one of Harry's shirts. 

It fits him better.

* * *

"How can I help?" she asks. 

He shrugs. 

"Do you have money, do you have..." she trailed off.

"I was lucky enough to be out when the fire started, I've got my wallet with all its bits in. I'm sorry for looking through the boxes in the spare, but one of them was labelled 'Shite Harry Left Again' so I hoped I might find a bit to wear... By the time I got home to the priory it was all but burnt to the ground, and the ashes were blowing along with the rain. I had to put my clothes in the wash. I went out and got a few things to wear and some toothpaste, brush, shit like that. I'm not gonna-" he laughed softly. "I'm not gonna keep yer boyfriend's shirt."

She rolls her eyes.

"Looks better on you. And he left a long time ago. Before, uh.. Had a new girl at Dad's wedding. You met him."

He swallows hard. "How's your new guy feel about you still havin' Harry's box here?"

She laughs. "No new guy."

He looks up, wide eyed. "There's men's shampoo in the loo."

"I use it to shave!"

They look at each other for a minute before bursting out laughing. 

"I'm fairly certain if I had a boyfriend there'd have been more of a problem finding you a place to stay, you loon. Now fork over the bottle, or has the Lord not taught you to share?"

* * *

God, had she missed him. 


	3. there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins

She's been living with him for a week the first time they touch. (Since the last time, anyway.)

His bicep brushes her shoulderblade and she makes a (frankly indecent) sound.

 _His arms_ , she whimpers with a glance toward us. He winces, locking eyes with us. He knows how much he has yet to make up for. They look back at each other at the same moment, then he flees.

* * *

A week and a half more come with no contact but, as a priest with no priest-ing to do, and a woman with exactly zero living friends (other than her sister, who's abandoned her to go have blond Finnish babies who would probably be named variations of [C/K]la[i]r[e],) they must eventually get drunk together.

He brushes her hair behind her ear.

She cries herself to sleep, arms aching to hold that which is forbidden.

* * *

Exactly three weeks after he moves in, she comes home, forgets, and removes her brassiere without taking off her shirt.

In the middle of the living room.

Her hand brushes his thigh as they clean up ceramic shards and spilled tea.

She bites her lip so hard it bleeds.

He patches her up with his hips tilted away. She pretends she doesn't notice.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fourth-wall-fleabag on tumblr!!!


End file.
